Fine Summer Days
by Daughter Mestizo
Summary: Theodore Groves and Sinclair Gillette are both foster children living in the same home, and have done so for eight years. Yet only now are the beginning to discover each other. GrovesxGillette AU


It was a change in temperature, to say the _very_ least. Last week there had been wind and rain, suddenly it was blistering hot and nothing but sun. At least it's a _dry_ heat, said the adults, as though that news was supposed to be a comfort to anybody.

Fat fucking chance, said the boys. They still lay about in their underwear.

These boys, eleven in total, were the charges of Mr and Mrs Swann. It was a foster home for orphans consisting entirely of teenage boys. The children's welfare people could hardly believe that this was managed without a catastrophe and thus visited often for "check-ups", suspicion written as clear as a monster zit on their faces.

But there were no catastrophes. Having been there since they were eight, or so, the boys all shared a similar disposition, if not at the very least a closeness satisfactory to keep them from tearing each other apart.

Sinclair Gillette, not the only foreigner, but the only French boy, didn't feel the heat like the others did. The sun also hurt his eyes; thus he refrained from Mrs Swann's proposed ice cream trip on this particular day. Instead, he lay about for a while in the basement, alternating between video games and throwing his arm over his face in an attempt to block the sun, eventually deciding on a shower.

Now, just because _he_ didn't feel the heat, doesn't mean his body didn't. Sinclair could never explain that, but it was true he realized, as he pried his sweaty shirt from his back and threw it on the floor.

_Gross_. He grimaced and pulled the shower curtain shut.

First he wet his hands under the water. Warm water. Sinclair always had hot showers, so the others always made him go last, lest he use up all the hot water first. But by then there was very little left. Sinclair nearly gloated to himself about finally getting all the hot water to himself.

Sticking his head directly under the spray, he pushed his hair back over his head. His hair was long and thick, making it particularly heavy when wet. Stepping back, Sinclair shook his head back and forth a bit, trying to lighten it up.

Looking around, Sinclair realized that he had forgotten his shampoo. Opening the curtain he realized he had _also_ forgotten his towel.

_Damn it!_ The air of the bathroom hit Sinclair's skin as though he had just thrown himself naked into a snow pile. He shivered and darted to the closet as quickly as possible, realizing with small curses that he was dripping water all over the place.

Scampering back into the hot shower dumped his shampoo in one corner turned up the heat. No normal person would've been able to stand it, but Sinclair was _cold_.

Sinclair stood directly under the jet of water, letting it run over him for some minutes. He smiled to himself and rubbed his shoulders, lovingly, up over one shoulder, to the crook of his neck, back over the shoulder, and again…

His other hand moved along his stomach, then a bit higher across his chest, then down to his stomach again. His skin was so soft, covered in water. Sinclair sighed a slow, feathery sigh through his nose and let his hand drop, but never leaving his skin.

It was an old habit, this. Sinclair was bordering on seventeen now; at twelve he had discovered what he could do to while away the nights when he couldn't sleep. He had decided he would never marry. Why should he when he could play all the roles himself? God gave man two hands, and for good reason, Sinclair had concluded, whatever the _churches_ had to say about his games. He let one hand tease himself, hardening or softening the touch, changing speeds, while the other caressed him. He turned his face to the hand, smiling coyly with shut eyes.

_Ahhhh…_

He loved it.

Longer strokes now. Yes, how perfect. His "spare" hand ran up and down the other side of his neck, and Sinclair turned his head so that it ran down the front.

Sinclair let out a breath through his teeth and tried to control himself, before realizing that that wasn't the point. So he let himself go, again, and realized he was almost at the end of the game anyways…

"Crap! The floor is wet! You have to mop this up when you're done, you know,"

"Holy shiii—" Sinclair panicked, "Theo! Don't just COME IN when someone's already in here!"

Sinclair hardly got the words past his teeth, stumbling on the polysyllables. He heard Theodore laugh.

"I thought the French were all open about nudity and shit. Tsk tsk, _patriotism_, Sinclair!"

"Fuck you," Sinclair grunted. There was no going back now. Hunched over slightly, almost defensively, Sinclair forced himself to the end, leaning his head back against the shower wall and smiling wanly.

"You missed out on some good fun, you know. Richard fell in the lake. The big lake, not the pissy lake. Right off the dock with his ice cream in his hand. A couple of guys in a motorboat had to fish him out."

Sinclair could hear Theo chuckling between breaths. Quickly and silently he soaped himself off. Now that there were other people in the house, he'd have to be quick. Richard would want the hot water.

"So mom says he's got pneumonia and took him to the doctor. She was totally freakin' out, she wanted to take him to the I hospital /I , but Richard struck a lovely "compromise" with her instead."

"So where is everyone else?" Sinclair would be more than grateful if it was just he and Theo, despite the invasion of his privacy.

"Outside."

"Oh, great."

"Yeah."

A pause. Sinclair threw his head back under the shower-head.

"Hey, Sin,"

"Mm,"

"I can smell your cum."

Sinclair almost died. He threw himself against the back wall and stifled a gasp that threatened to become a shriek.

_How the_ fuck _is that possible!_

"I'm coming in,"

"No!"

But it was too late; Theo had stepped into the shower, completely naked, and pulled the curtain shut behind him. He stood under the head, back to Sinclair, and raised his hands to push his wet hair out of his face, almost exactly as Sinclair had done it not too long before.

As Theo turned, Sinclair moved to the far wall and pressed his clenched fists against it. He gritted his teeth.

_Holy fuck!_ He thought to himself, _Fuck fuck fuck._

"Hey, Prude, what's your problem?"

"Get out!" Sinclair's voice cracked, he couldn't believe what was happening.

"Nah," came Theo's conversational response.

"Fuck. You." Sinclair turned his head, not quite enough to see Theo, but enough to feel slightly stronger, "Get. Fucking. Ou—ohmygod!"

Theodore had a tight grip around Sinclair's waist. His arms were relatively thin, but obviously contained a good deal of strength. Theodore's head was on Sinclair's shoulder, and the latter could feel the ripple in Theo's throat as he laughed. Defensively, Sinclair locked his arms over Theo's.

Unfortunately, the water prevented a good grip. Theo's hand slipped out of Sinclair's grasp and locked itself under his chin, tilting Sinclair's head upwards.

Theo's other palm lay splayed on Sinclair's chest and began to move back and forth. Sinclair attempted a protest.

"Nnnn…" was all he managed.

"What's that?"

"Leggo!"

Theodore laughed in his throat again and nuzzled Sinclair's neck, considering the latter's head was still tilted helplessly upwards.

"Ah—" the cry flew past Sinclair's lips before he could stifle it completely. As though that had been permission, the splayed palm on Sinclair's chest – which had been amazingly warm to the point of comforting – took a dip. Sinclair lurched forward.

"Fuck! Get out! Get OUT!"

But try as he might, Sinclair couldn't turn around. There wasn't enough room. Moving to the far side of the shower had been his mistake. Before he knew it, Theo's hands were around his waist again and Theo's lips were pressed to the back of his neck.

Knowing the danger, but not fearing it, Theo moved at an industrial pace; he moved one arm down and left the other to catch Sinclair's protesting wrists. Having subsequently lost the use of his arms as a defense and not wanting to use his legs for fear of falling over (which was entirely possible in a shower), Sinclair resorted to tossing his head back and forth with a significant amount of fervor and energy.

Theo had incurred his wrath by gripping Sinclair and rubbing him, much like Sinclair himself had done, and stilled the protests by collecting a large amount of Sinclair's hair in his mouth and jerking his head backwards. Not hard, but enough to stop Sinclair's erratic movements.

Sinclair stopped moving completely of his own accord when the lightheadedness started to sink in. Theo had a way of _moving_ that he had never tried. Up slowly, almost cupping Sinclair, then down, harder and very quick. Sinclair threw his hand over Theo's in an attempt to preserve some of the independence in the act he so loved.

But no dice. Theo didn't want to share. Gliding his other hand over Sinclair's chest, he pinched, hard, causing _both_ Sinclair's hands to fly up in an automatic reflex.

At the same, Sinclair's hip jerked, in no particular direction, mind, but the move was distinct. Sinclair never teased himself that way. Never had. He almost fainted as he came, breathing out a large amount of air that he didn't know he had been holding;

"Ahhh……" he breathed, for the second time that afternoon, only louder, perhaps.

Theo laughed, again. The laugh was becoming infectious. He ran both his hands around Sinclair's lower waist, around his hips and up his chest, before criss-crossing over each other and holding onto Sinclair's shoulders for a few moments. A few quiet moments, save for Sinclair's somewhat heavy breathing.

Taking his "brother" by the hand, Theo pulled Sinclair under the shower with him and slowly and methodically cleaned him. Sinclair made no sound, said no word. Not even after, when they were dressed. Not through the rest of the day, not at dinner, though Theo looked directly into Sinclair's eyes and ran his tongue over his top lip.

Sinclair knew he would never live it down.

And he knew Theo would come to him again.

And he didn't know what to make of that knowledge.


End file.
